


Damsel and the Distressed

by dogmatix, norcumi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, GFY, Gen, Padme saves the day, What-If, all the aus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 21:13:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: In canon, Anakin is so often saving Padmé.Here's 3 different universes where she saves him.





	1. Pirate Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [being_elspeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/being_elspeth/gifts).



> Written for Being-Elspeth, who requested: several times Padmé Amidala saves Anakin Skywalker's (and his idiot master's and truly the universe's) ass.
> 
> Thank you for a lovely opportunity for some glorious fun!

The stun-headache was settling in for a long stay as Anakin slowly came to, struggling to recall just what happened in the first place. He’d gone to blow off steam from difficult negotiations, hoping either the jog to the nearest shuttle hanger or time spent banging away on his starfighter might help. At minimum, it might offer some distraction from the ornate, formal robes required for all the involved dignitaries. The door to the hanger had opened, the Force had gone haywire with danger and trouble, and then too many stunblasts for him to block.

“Soo, my very good friend Skywalker,” an unfortunately familiar voice drawled.

Oh. Well fuck. Anakin opened his eyes to glare. “Still not your friend, Hondo.”

He was in a containment field, and it looked like that was on Hondo’s primary ship, given the crowd of unsavory sorts clustered around looking for entertainment from Anakin’s situation.

About par with most encounters with Ohnaka.

Hondo waved a hand lazily in the air as if to swat away Anakin’s retort. “Oh don’t be silly Skywalker! If you didn’t like my company, why are you here in the first place?”

He could look around enough to glare significantly at the containment field’s emitters. “I’m only in this sector because the locals have been having a dispute over their land treaties.”

Hondo recoiled as if he’d just said something offensive. “Oh no no no no no. You expect me to believe that _you_ got sent in to deal with some piddling little argument about territories? Pfft. The great General Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear, sitting through boring arguments about who’s grandfather stole what bit of dirt from who’s great-uncle?”

He didn’t bother to restrain the eyeroll. “Ok, one, the local cultures are both matriarchal _and_ __matrilineal, and two, it is way more complicated than that.”

Hondo shrugged. “Do I look like I know or care what that means? Either way, why would you be here to discuss terms? No, I simply refuse to believe it!”

“Wish we all could ignore reality that easily,” Anakin muttered, not sure if it was audible and not caring too much either way.

“Hah! I am a man of many skills. Give it time, young Skywalker, and one day maybe– ”

Blaster shots interrupted Hondo. Anakin couldn’t whip around to see what was going on, like the rest of Hondo’s crew, but he allowed himself an un-Jedi-like moment of satisfaction at the flurry of stun bolts that were taking down a lot of pirates. When the firefight ended, it was because a young woman had somehow ended up behind Hondo, one arm around his throat while she held a blaster to his ear. Given she was significantly shorter than him, it left the pirate flailing and off balance even as he gurgled for a halt.

Anakin could see the hesitancy to Hondo’s crew, how they were tempted to take potshots anyways, but a small group of women in dark red clothes stepped up to flank the one holding Hondo. Faced with serious opposition, his crew backed down.

When she was apparently satisfied with what she saw, the leader tossed Hondo down, only to place her foot against his throat and smile down at him, an expression both lovely and terrifying due to a bit too much tooth showing for sincerity. “Hello, Hondo. You seem to have forgotten that you owe me rather a lot of credits, or a significant shipment of weapons.”

Hondo looked affronted. “My dear, dear Padmé-URGHK.”

The woman waited until Hondo stopped trying to sputter with her foot more firmly on his throat, then she let up a little. “That’s still Amidala to you. What were you saying?”

After a few wheezing attempts, Hondo managed to address her. “I was saying that we have half a shipment, but you know how those Confederacy dolts are – so inconvenient! We could barely scrounge up what we do have, and I need to keep the men armed!”

The woman glared down at him. “I see.” Her voice was still calm, sweet but neutral as if she were discussing the weather. “You mean you don’t have my shipment, that I paid good credits for.”

Anakin could see Hondo puffing himself up for another round of self-importance. He tuned out the idiocy to study what he was pretty sure was another group of pirates.

Pretty pirates, and terrifyingly competent. Now another reason to be glad the troops weren’t here: first because it was always embarrassing to get captured in front of the men, second because he could imagine just how many of his troops would be voting these women as honorary vode.

Not like that hadn’t happened before. His master’s habit of having various lifeforms follow him home only to be adopted by everyone around him might have been infectious.

“Enough, Hondo!” the leader snapped, accompanied by the lovely tune of temporarily choking Ohnaka. “Return my credits, or give me the agreed upon weapons, and then you can go back to romancing your poor local government flunky.” She shot an almost sympathetic glance at Anakin. “No offense, but you understand how it is. If I don’t interfere in his business, I get to kill him if he tries to interfere with mine.”

“Can I beg you to interfere the once?”

“ _Government flunky?_ ” Hondo half-bellowed with a wheezy undertone. “Do not disrespect the Jedi like that, Amidala! It will never do! I will have you know that I have _never_ been so insulted on behalf of– ”

“Jedi?” Amidala pulled back, her foot going from Hondo’s throat to the floor. “He’s a Jedi?”

“Is he a – Skywalker, did you hear that? This woman think’s you’re not a Jedi! You need to come prove her wrong right this instant!”

He wasn’t sure how he managed to not wince or roll his eyes. Before Anakin could address either the woman or Hondo, Amidala sighed. “Enough, Hondo.” She shook her head and muttered, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Then she straightened, going regal in a heartbeat. “Instead of taking my time killing you, and getting my payment out of your hide, I’ll take him as payment instead.”

Hondo shoved himself to his feet. “Are you joking? That’s a very bad joke, even for you!”

“Mm. Do you have my credits?” Amidala allowed him to inhale before cutting back in. “Thought not. Do you have the guns you were supposed to buy with those credits?”

This time she let the inhale complete, which Anakin found delightful since Hondo didn’t seem to know what to do other than sputter.

“Then I’ll take the Jedi as payment, and we’re even. This time.” She motioned towards Anakin, and two of her red-clad compatriots stepped forward. One released him from the containment field, while the second kept him from faceplanting as his muscles finally found they could work. Both women slipped under his arms, hauling him towards the exit without the difficulty they should have had given the height and mass difference.

He was not letting Torrent keep them, dammit.

Amidala loped into the lead, striding through the pirates like she knew she could take them all on and win – which perhaps wasn’t wrong.

Anakin wasn’t sure if he was a little terrified or thoroughly in love.

He was perhaps a little too unbothered by the possibility of both. 


	2. Relief Pilot

Sometimes, the most difficult missions were the most exhilarating. Oh, Padmé wouldn’t go so far as to call herself an adrenaline junkie, but sometimes in the privacy of her own mind, she might consider it seriously.

She’d been doing relief work, mostly with refugees, since she’d been very young. Once upon a time, she’d poked the political arena with a stick, even making it to local junior governor, until there was a failed attempt to get elected Queen (some days, she also despaired of trying to explain Naboo politics to outsiders). It wasn’t that it had _failed_ , per se, so much as at the last moment there’d been discoveries of an incredible amount of political tampering by organized crime cartels and all sorts of other unsavory matters, leading to a cancelled election, a disgusted Padmé walking away to do more useful work, and a local king that died before the next election _anyways_. 

There were times that Padmé wondered ‘what if,’ but she tried to keep those to a minimum. She didn’t regret throwing herself into relief efforts, including closer work with those on the ground as compared to officiating and working the more... _refined_ aspects. 

A faint crackle on the com yanked her attention from the delicate piloting she was doing through the debris field. It _had_ been two relief freighters that had inexplicably jumped out of hyperspace with transposed termination coordinates, leading to an ugly mess of twisted metal and so far not a single survivor. The only good point had been that there were no signs of lifeforms of any sort, dead or alive – but that made no sense either. 

“Artoo, see if you can home in on that signal. I think that’s speech!”

Her astromech whistled an affirmative, nudging the small shuttle further into the freighter remains. It was a few tense minutes before the faint hint of crackling finally resolved into coherent speech. 

“This is pilot Wizard of the freighter _Theed Blossom_ , mayday mayday mayday, need a pickup from a collision. If anyone can hear this, I’m in an EVA suit in the core-ward north quadrant of the debris field. Me and my protocol droid were the only two souls aboard.”

Padmé blinked as the message repeated, the intonation too unvarying to be anything other than a recording. The only two beings aboard? On the one hand, she was distantly charmed that someone would take the time to treat their protocol droid as a fellow survivor of a crash. On the other hand, there were supposed to be several _hundred_ beings aboard each ship. 

She maneuvered further through the debris field, aiming for the north inner quadrant. 

“Wizard, this is Demo from the Refugee Relief Movement. Please call out if you can hear me,” she said over an open channel every few minutes.

It still took so damn long for an answer. A groggy voice finally came onto the com instead of the repeated distress call. “Are you an angel?” 

Padmé smiled wide in relief. “Afraid I don’t know that cultural reference, sorry. I’m just a pilot.”

“Ah, yeah,” Wizard said. “Ow, sorry, hit my head before I could get my helmet on, and now I’m stuck speaking into my protocol droid’s neck.”

The transmission changed a little, going from the slightly muffled young man’s voice to the stuffy tones of a droid directly broadcasting. “It’s most undignified.” 

Wizard chuckled. “Yeah, whoever designed this EVA suit should’ve installed a built-in com instead of depending on a headpiece, because sometimes you don’t have time to grab one. So anyway, yeah, sorry, not too with it.”

The merits of a concussion and how bad it might be paled before the mental image she now had. “...are you telling me you and your droid are floating around and you’re somehow using him as a _com unit_?”

Wizard managed to scoff a laugh that conveyed disbelief. “Not somehow, I spent a good half hour rewiring his speech unit for this. Oh don’t look at me like that Threepio, it’ll take a lot less time to put things back the way they should go.”

Padmé shook her head. Before that particular conversation could meander off the way it promised, she jumped in. “Were there any other survivors?”

“Negative. No one else was on board but us and some high explosives we took off early to try to keep clear of folks.”

“ _WHAT_?”

Wizard had a weary sigh that made him sound a lot older. “ Some sleemo didn’t want the refugees these ships were supposed to be carrying to make it from Ryloth. I was doing a last sweep of the ship when I found them. Took off because I know electronics, but I can’t slice a timer that fast, and there were no guarantees that I’d found them all. Couldn’t have the shuttles exploding at dock, either. The spaceport couldn’t take that. I got the helm on one, Threepio got the other.” 

Padmé stared at the com in shock. Ryloth was undergoing a cultural revolution, trying to leave behind its past as a primarily slave trading planet. She knew that some beings didn’t want that change to happen, but – “But they’re refugees!”

“They’re _slaves_ ,” Wizard pointed out softly, something incredibly bitter in his voice. “If someone’s going to take your merchandise, and you lose a lot of money from that confiscation, then why not just...destroy the product, so no one profits? Spite is a wonderful motivator.”

Now she was giving her com a look of horror instead. “You can’t believe that,” she whispered.

There was a harsh bark of laughter that had no humor to it. “I’ve seen it plenty of times, lady. Believe it like I believe in gravity – that’s just how the universe works.”

“...It shouldn’t,” she finally said.

“Yeah, well, if wishes were sand then Tatooine would be out of land.”

Padmé winced. “Wasn’t familiar with that cultural reference, either.”

“You hear it a lot in the Tatooine slave quarters.”

Something about the breezy comment slotted several bits of intel into place. Padmé frowned, leaving flying to Artoo while she punched some quick queries into her holonet connection. “Wizard, were you a slave?” Blunt was better than gentle. Blunt would get her answers, whereas gentle might keep the man from getting offended but –

She had further suspicions, and she didn’t like them at all.

“Was I!” Wizard laughed, still with that brittle edge. “Was I a slave. Better to say–”

“Sir!” the droid’s stuffy tones sounded somewhere between worried and indignant, and the pause afterwards was telling.

“Yeah, I was,” Wizard declared, sounding tired and defeated.

Padmé’s search results popped up on her HUD, and her lips thinned. Rush Clovis had gotten involved in the RRM again. He’d been mucking around her and her work for years now, looking for ways to impress her and to help line the Banking Guilds’ pockets. She’d never figured out the source for the former – aside from the noxious notion that Clovis had decided he wanted her, and Clovis was the kind of asshole who tried to get and keep what he wanted – and the latter usually meant he wasn’t acting in the spirit of the RRM’s mandate.

He also spent far less than he was usually allotted for funds, a discrepancy that had been noted around the office for all that no one could quite figure out how he was doing it. Padmé’s parents – a little too forgiving for her personal tastes – had decided he was funding his operations out of his own pocket, possibly to impress their daughter.

While that was possible, Padmé now had a suspicion that he wasn’t _hiring_ the manpower he needed.

After all, you only needed to pay for a slave once.

“Wizard, keep talking to me,” she ordered, keeping her tone a little pleading like she was some dew-eyed youngling idealist worried about a pilot with a concussion. “I’m on my way. Help’s arrived.”

The best part, was that if Clovis had used even a credit of RRM funds, then _they_ legally owned any slaves he’d bought. It’d be easy enough to free them, as soon as they could be found, and it sounded like she had a _quite_ capable co-conspirator just waiting to be rescued. 


	3. Time Traveler

Yoda breathed out, feeling the Force flow into him, around and through him, and he let himself disperse into the sensation. He held onto himself – not the physical, but that-which-defined-him, and let go of the rest.

He opened his eyes to the Force itself, the beauty which was no longer metaphor. He was willing to admit that this was something he was grateful for. Yoda was old, even as his now extinct race marked things. He had done what he could for young Skywalker, and now perhaps he could find some rest.

He turned from what in the material world was once his house, then he shrieked. A presence stood before him, solid enough and sparking with well-leashed righteous anger. Padmé Amidala shifted from her cross-armed stance to reach out and grab him by the ear before he could even think of running. “Master Yoda,” she declared in honeyed tones that were honestly terrifying, “I’ve been waiting a long time to have some _words_ with you.”

* * *

She’d had a lot of time to think things over. Padmé had been able to watch the full horror of the Republic’s collapse and Palpatine’s betrayals from this place, this afterlife or the Force or whatever it was that Qui-Gon tried to explain it as today. 

There were others who were willing to philosophize at her, but it hadn’t taken too long before the acceptance of the status quo drove her up a wall. She might not be living anymore, but by everything that _had_ existed, she was going to find some _answers_.

Qui-Gon – as infuriating as he could be – had some ideas, but neither the finesse nor the power to see them through.

Yoda, as it turned out, had power, finesse, and no experience being dead whatsoever.

Padmé could work with that.

* * *

“Confused, I am,” Yoda admitted after she’d laid out the basic battle-plan. “You demand that reject Skywalker, I should?”

Padmé scowled. “Stand your ground, Master Yoda. I’ve heard _plenty_ of details about your interrogation of Anakin when Jinn petitioned for his admittance into the Order. Stand by your decision, and let Anakin find his own path.” She glared. “And for the love of the Force do it without terrorizing a nine-year-old! Of _course_ a youngling who’d known nothing but a life of slavery would be terrified of a group of powerful free beings who have money, and an enormous base of operations that is called a _temple_ , and his fate in the balance!” Honestly. She’d heard much about the Council’s follies over the years, but that one never stopped making her blood boil. 

Yoda looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well, Senator. Then back in time we shall go.”

* * *

They’d hoped to go back to before things had gone horribly wrong. That was both a tall order and difficult to pin down, so in the end Padmé had to leave trying to find the proper moment to Yoda. The fact that he wasn’t sure he _could_ aim for such a specific window was as concerning as his insistence that trusting in the Force would lead them through. 

In any event, it wasn’t like she had better options.

* * *

She’d expected something dramatic, or grandiose. Instead Yoda and she sat across from each other, his hands palm up on his knees and her hands in his. He had closed his eyes in apparent concentration.

Padmé had blinked, only to open her eyes in time to see the Naboo Royal Shuttle coming in for a landing, with Ric Olié talking to little Anakin Skywalker about the planet. Behind them, Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan exchanged looks. Sabé detected _something_ going on, and gave her ‘handmaiden’ the faintest quirk of a brow.

For a moment, it took everything she had for Padmé to just _breathe_. They were here. All of them, alive, with all the weight of actual gravity and time settling on her body with the frenetic tic of her heart beating down towards the end of the Republic. They’d done it. Master Yoda had actually _done it_. 

“M’lady,” Padmé managed to whisper around the lump in her throat. “Forgive me, but your makeup needs tending to before we meet our distinguished hosts.”

Sabé’s brow quirked up a little further, because that was a coded order to get to privacy and let Padmé take up the Queen’s position once more. It could be obvious, in this close a setting, but–

Padmé had to stifle a half-hysterical laugh. The Jedi knew, the Naboo on the craft would never speak of it, and she had so very, very much to do. Poor Ani might take it a bit hard, but with luck, that would be the cruelest thing that would happen to him on what would be a baffling day.

The instant they were in privacy, the handmaidens were a whirlwind of activity transferring clothes and makeup between the two.

“I hope you know what you’re doing!” Sabé hissed.

Padmé bit back another hysterical laugh. “So do I.”

* * *

When they left the private cabin, Padmé could see Jinn’s face twitch in an attempt to cover his surprise. He was kind enough to work to distract Anakin, not that it took much effort as the boy was rapt with Coruscant and the intricacies of Space Traffic Control’s directions. 

She thought she was composed by the time they landed, but debarking to Chancellor Valorum and Palpatine made her stomach go on extreme swoop maneuvers. Her back stiffened as Palpatine stepped forward, that so-familiar _so-fake_ little smile on his face. “It is a great gift to see you alive, Your Majesty. With the communications breakdown, we’ve been very concerned.”

She remembered this conversation – as she could remember so painfully _much_ of the years she had traversed. Excellent native recall and well-honed practice could take a decent politician far. Padmé Amidala could be accused of multiple flaws, some of which she might even admit to, but being _merely_ a decent politician was not one of them. 

“I’m sure you were,” Padmé declared, applying regal hauteur with a vengeance. “Particularly since your minions could not complete the one job you had given them.” She knew the best way to take Palpatine out at the knees was to be swift and brutal, but it had been long years that she’d had to endure, watching and helpless to act.

On the one hand, shoving him off the landing platform might be the most efficient way to deal with things, but the complications would be enormous – not to mention leave all his plans still in place to explode. On the other hand, leaving him in a position of power, presuming that she could only alter small things to somehow gain advantages and win in the long run – that was foolish.

Far better to goad him now, use all her knowledge and understanding to do as much damage as she could in the moment, then go forward to face an entirely unknown future. It might be worse than what she’d lived, but there were equal odds it would be better.

Palpatine blinked, pulling back a little at genuine coldness rather than the regal distance the monarch typically expressed. He met Valorum’s confused look with a tiny, baffled shrug, and Padmé struck. 

“I must compliment your efficiency at hiding a paper trail, but your subordinates are not nearly as subtle as they’d like to think they are.”

Not entirely true, but let him weed out his own troublemakers. Less for her and her allies to deal with. Far better there be infighting while the Sith went looking for non-existent traitors. Padmé was watching Palpatine closely, so she saw a flash of anger and what she could only hope was fear. “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re speaking of, Queen Amidala.”

Strange, the muscle memory that somehow remained. There was a precise angle to the tilt of her head, to keep any headdress she might have from going askew while indicating to all her handmaidens that trouble awaited. It also looked damned intimidating. 

“You serve at the pleasure of the monarch, and your service no longer pleases me. I will have no more treachery awaiting our people from the Senate, nor any more of your conspiracies. Your assets upon Naboo are to be confiscated and examined for any incongruity. You have one hour to remove your possessions from the embassy here on Coruscant, after which we will be exercising our rights to make sure you do not contaminate Naboo soil again. You are fired, and no longer represent Naboo nor the Chommell sector.”

Palpatine gaped several moments longer than she expected. “What – but! Your majesty! Might I remind you that it was I who was your closest friend during the elections.” A dangerous light shone in his eyes, and Padmé could feel the brush of the Force on her mind. Suggestion – perhaps more than that, but mental coercion of some sort. “Some have even said that it was I who brought you to power.”

Padmé arched a brow, allowing venom to honey her tone. “Really. I find those most interesting, since many have said that it was taking a stand against King Veruna’s corrupt practices that brought me to power. Would you care to explain yourself? That is a most intriguing connection you speak of.” Let him posture and nudge. She would not move for him, ever again, and if he thought to do more than nudge, Master Jinn and Obi-Wan were here. She had support, she had the steel of experience and far too long watching people languish under this monster’s heel.

Padmé Amidala held Palpatine’s glare, and he looked away first. He tried to mask it as an appeal, a glance to Valorum who might as well have been waving banners declaring how he was not involved. Finding no recourse there, Palpatine glared at her again. “I will not forget this,” he growled.

“I have never forgotten all that you have done,” she declared right back, voice shaking a hair as she fought to hide her anger. “Nor shall I ever forgive it.”

He almost snarled at her, for a moment not bothering to hide the evil she had often seen as a ghost watching the Emperor. It still made a part of her quail inside, but she showed none of that. 

She, at least, remembered that the Jedi were standing right there, witnessing this all. Nonetheless, a distant part of her worried about the flash of confusion in his eyes. She had no idea how much he had done to manipulate her and her loved ones, not at this time in her life. It looked like there might be quite the list. 

Nonetheless. Never again. 

She gave Palpatine enough time to storm off in indignation before glancing at her security chief. “Captain Panaka.”

“Milady.” He looked pale, and she suspected that he was caught between fury that there were dangers to the monarch that he did not know of, and a minor fit that affairs were disgracefully irregular again. Poor man didn’t do well with the unconventional.

“His hour begins now. Make sure that the embassy is locked down precisely on mark, and I don’t care if his belongings are literally halfway out the door. He only takes the outer half, and if he remains inside then lethal measures should be exercised.”

“Of course, Your Majesty!” He saluted, and Padmé made a mental note that the deep loyalty made up for some of the inflexibility. He sounded as if he’d be fine taking the shot himself if need be. 

Padmé turned to Valorum, who was taking heroic measures to appear a bit interested, rather than taken aback. “Supreme Chancellor Valorum. It is an honor to finally meet you in person.”

“And you, Your Highness.” As she’d hoped, Valorum decided to pretend that everything was normal, and that Naboo affairs were none of his business. “I must relay to you how distressed everyone is over the current situation. I’ve called for a special session of the senate to hear your position.”

She nodded. “I’m grateful for your concern, Chancellor. However, I must ask: is there any chance that my people will find any succor within the next few days? Or is the Galactic Senate mired in procedure and internal politics?”

As if there was any doubt. She could tell from the quirk that never blossomed into a full grin that Valorum appreciated the question. “To be quite honest, I’m afraid there might be some...questions to procedure, Your Majesty.”

“Very well, then. Is our presence required to submit a plea?”

Ah, that surprised him. “No, but it might be advisable. Many of our Senators find a sympathetic face helpful to resolving issues.”

Everyone did love a scandal, and a Queen in exile would be topic for several nights’ dinner parties. She had known that her first time to Coruscant. “But not necessary. With your permission, Supreme Chancellor, I will take my case to the Jedi Council directly. As queen of a planet in distress I do not have to go through bureaucratic channels.”

She gave Valorum a regal nod, acknowledgement from one ruler to another and liable to be more respect than the poor man saw in the average week. Then she turned to a politely stunned Qui-Gon Jinn. “Master Jinn, I imagine you have quite the mission report for your Council. I will accompany you, and perhaps my people’s crisis can provide incentive to facilitate yours.”

That might have been more of a dig than necessary about Jinn’s priorities, but Padmé was not about to worry herself over it. 

* * *

Meeting with the Jedi Council was more of a catastrophe than Padmé had quite expected, but it probably wasn’t as horrid as matters had been the first time – the last time? – the time she and Yoda remembered. The old Jedi had indeed played his part as agreed. He was kind, he was patient, he worked hard to make sure that Anakin was comfortable with the entire testing process. 

He was also adamant that the Jedi would not accept Anakin as a member. Every time Jinn tried to interrupt, to make the kind of grand declaration that had happened before, Yoda spoke over him. It had finally ended with Yoda making his decisions clear, then dismissing them all.

Anakin Skywalker was to be handed over to the care of Queen Amidala and her retinue. The Jedi would send a strike team of almost a dozen Jedi to Naboo, led by Yoda himself. They would stop the blockade of Naboo.

It was all remarkably dictatorial and excessive, but Padmé was not about to complain. Ani had noticed her switch with Sabé, and aside from incredulous astonishment, he’d taken it with good grace. He’d endured the questioning with skeptical patience, though he didn’t seem to know what to do with the results.

Master Jinn, on the other hand, looked fit to wrestle a nest of gundarks out of sheer frustration. Poor Obi-Wan looked so conflicted, uncertain of what was going on or what would happen.

Padmé gave Qui-Gon time for the barest beginnings of a muttered tirade, allowing him to grumble though a few sentences that came down to ‘the boy must be trained!’

She brought the little parade of her handmaidens, Ani, and the Jedi to a sharp halt, whirling to give Qui-Gon Jinn a withering glare. “Then train him,” she declared, cold and with as much hauteur as she could muster.

She’d caught the Jedi flatfooted. He blinked at her, thrown both by the challenge and the sudden halt. “Beg pardon, Your Majesty?”

“Then come to Naboo and train him.” It took remarkable effort to not roll her eyes. “You claim that he must be trained in use of the Force. Your grandmaster has declared that it is impossible for him to be a Jedi. If the problem is training, then _come train him_. If the difficulty is with what title he takes then you must lodge that complaint with Master Yoda. In the meantime, Master Jinn, we have much to do and we will not have our time wasted upon pedantic terminology about what kind of Force user Anakin might be taught to be.”

Obi-Wan was staring openly, a bit of hurt flashing across his face while Qui-Gon went cold, a haughty mask settling over his features. “Your Majesty, I’m sorry to say that it is impossible.”

She arced a brow at him. “I was under the impression that the Jedi specialized in the impossible as well as the improbable. You have a student, Master Jinn, who seems quite capable. As I understand these things, he has no more than a few years before he could claim full proficiency such as Jedi measure it – if not sooner.” Padmé gave Obi-Wan an approving nod, making sure the gesture had warmth and appreciation to it. She remembered his stories, of how Qui-Gon had declared him ready – perhaps too early, perhaps ‘just’ in a cruel manner. She would try to do right by her friend this time, too. “You should tend to his needs. Meanwhile, Anakin will be able to make a home on Naboo if he choses, and if he wishes to go elsewhere we shall make every accommodation possible for one who has so bravely served our cause already. Either way. Within a few years you will be without other major commitments, and Anakin will have – I hope – settled into someplace he can call home.”

“ _Wizard_ ,” the awed little boy breathed, looking like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Neither did Jinn, though his expression was far more sour. She did not have time for his tantrums. Padmé glanced around at her people. To the last, there was awe, bewilderment, and a loyalty that left her breathless. “We will discuss tactics upon the flight back home. I imagine between the Jedi and any alliances we can make with the Gungans, we will be able to liberate our planet.” She let that sink in before giving Anakin a genuine smile. “Once we’ve gotten things stabilized, then we shall return to Tatooine for a quick visit.”

“And why would you intend that, Your Majesty?”

Qui-Gon was dry enough to earn a cold smile. “You might not have gone there to free slaves, Master Jinn, but I will.”


End file.
